


The White Wolf

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Monster You Know [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Geralt is lost, Guilt, On the Road Again, Other, Periods, This is brand new information, Witcher Senses, and talks about FEELINGS, arya's feral too, don't sneak up on a witcher, fuck off bard, geralt actually speaks up, geralt cries, geralt is also big dumb, geralt is basically batman, geralt the story teller, he literally can't stop adopting children, here i go providing exposition again, mutual hatred, roach has a lot to say, roach is a moral compass, we do not beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Geralt wakes to find Jaskier missing, and must begin the search for his bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Arya Stark
Series: The Monster You Know [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642081
Comments: 23
Kudos: 111





	1. Geralt I

Geralt hardly ever slept past the sunrise, yet today was to be one of the few times he did. And of course it would be _this_ day. He opened his eyes carefully, to see if Jaskier was awake, or if he had moments still to watch the bard sleeping. It was a surprise to find the space beside him empty. He hadn’t heard or felt Jaskier get up, and by how his smell had faded, it had been at least two hours since he’d gotten up. That was a tad disconcerting, and Geralt got up to investigate. Roach whinnied and stamped nervously at him as he exited the tent, putting the witcher’s guard up. He glanced about the camp, noting Jaskier’s pack and lute were still here. The bard would never travel alone without them. 

**”Jaskier,”** he called sharply, hearing only birds and small vermin rustling about in the crisp morning air. Geralt’s jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, looking around for a sign of him. He could have been asleep out here, somewhere, having gotten up in the middle of the night. The bard was noticeably drunk by the time they had finally fallen asleep. **”Jaskier,”** he called again, following the trail of scent that led away from camp. Luckily it had not rained, or else he likely never would have caught it. Or at least not as easily.

 **”Damn bard’s hiding, is all,”** Geralt tried to convince himself. It was some silly game Jaskier had decided on. That’s all it was. As soon as he found the bard, they could continue on their way back south. And back home. The witcher stopped dead in his tracks when the second scent hit his nose. It was the man who’d stared at him in the stables, back at the inn. What the hell was that scent doing _here_? Geralt felt a stabbing pang of guilt in his stomach, and ran towards where the scents had begun to mix together. A piss…Jaskier had come out to relieve himself. He could smell the wine in it, still. 

Geralt knelt down, seeing two sets of human tracks. It looked as though Jaskier had been attacked from behind, and dragged…dragged to where? That damned _smell_ was in his head. He didn’t want to think the things that were in his mind now. From what he knew about Jaskier and his past, there was only one person who would have wanted to attack him. And if that little shit-stain from the tavern had followed them this far…it was personal. Geralt ran, following the trail and fearing for the worst. But he smelled no blood mixed with the air, and that was relief enough for now. He found himself back at the road, staring at the indents of a wheeled cart. That was where the scent became scarce.

 **”No. Fuck! Idiot… _idiot_ ,”** he cursed himself, turning to speed back to camp. He had to find Jaskier, there was no two ways about it. **”Someone’s taken him, Roach,”** Geralt had to speak to the mare, otherwise he would burst from the anger and guilt boiling inside his gut. **”And I think I know who.”**

The witcher had never broken down a camp so quickly in his life, before. This was dire. Far more dire than anything he’d done, or any monster he’d had to kill. If he was right, and he hoped for once in his life he was not, then it was the bard’s half-brother who had taken him. There were no other clues, and Jaskier had never been one to speak about his past. He’d left here so young, and so broken.

 **”This is my doing,”** he growled, tying the packs to Roach’s saddle. **”I brought him all this way. Against his wish. If anything happens to him…”** Geralt didn’t want to think of that possibility. Roach snorted at him, completing the sentence in his mind. **”Yeah. Think I’ll kill the fucker that took him either way.”** Geralt dug his heels into Roach, urging her north. 

The first hour of travel on the road was rough on the White Wolf. He should have told Jaskier how he felt, or begun treating him better, sooner. What if that had been the only chance he had to tell the bard? Geralt refused to believe that, not yet. If he gave up, then Jaskier was surely lost. He’d been the one to open the wine, after Jaskier had been shocked by the confession and kiss. Maybe if the bard hadn’t been drunk, he could have fought, or shouted for Geralt. If they hadn’t drunk, he might not have had to get up in the early hours to piss. If Geralt had confronted the man in the stables, he could have beaten him so they could not be followed so easily.

Roach snorted, irritated, and Geralt realized he had been pulling the reigns tight, making her uncomfortable. **”Sorry,”** he loosened his grip and pat her neck. He’d already pushed the old girl hard, and she couldn’t gallop forever. As much as he’d wanted to push her. Geralt had to stop many times, consulting the map when he came to forks in their path. It lost him more time than he cared to acknowledge, and he could only pray that Jaskier was safe and unharmed. 

**”I love him,”** he confessed to Roach. Geralt had reluctantly stopped to let the mare rest, and it was eating at him. He’d never felt so determined and anxious to hunt in all his life. **”I should have told him sooner. Or listened more often. He’s told me so many times, maybe in ways he didn’t realize he was doing.”** When he’d first trusted Geralt, when he sang songs to bolster his shattered reputation. When Jaskier had first insisted on bathing the witcher, and wasn’t _that_ a memory worth laughing over. If only he felt like laughing. 

Roach just ate her meal in silence, as Geralt slowly realized how unaccustomed he’d become to the sensation of it. There was once a time that he prayed for silence, and needed it for his sanity. Now he would give anything to have Jaskier filling the air with music, or laughter, or yet another dramatic retelling that wildly misrepresented the actual events of the story. Anything to hear the little lark sing again.

Geralt eyed the lute on Roach, frowning. The witcher shook his head with a sigh, picking at the piece of meat in his hand. Once he’d eaten it all, he eyed the lute again. **”Fuck.”** Geralt stood and carefully fetched the case. Jaskier would have a conniption if anything happened to it while he was away. _Away_. That was such a kind word for something that was likely harrowing and terrifying for the bard. Geralt nearly clenched his fist on the lute, breathing deep to prevent himself from crushing it.

 **”Don’t tell him I’m doing this,”** he warned Roach, carefully pulling the lute from its case. Geralt took it into his lap. How hard could it be, really? The witcher pulled off his gloves and strummed the lute. It sounded _awful_. Even Roach snorted in annoyance at the noise.

 **”Hmm. Bard makes it look easier than this.”** Geralt tried another sound, but found he was too worried about breaking the strings, or the lute itself, to try much more. Perhaps if he just practiced…a little bit at a time. He could figure out one of Jaskier’s songs and play it. What a surprise that’d be, eh? To play a song for the bard, once he was safely brought home. Geralt ought to kill the man who hired him for this job. But how could he think of blaming anyone other than himself? 

He had done little more than hold the lute in his lap, as though it might comfort him. When he watched a tear drip onto it, Geralt immediately put it back in its case, and tied it to Roach securely. **”Time to go,”** his voice was hoarse, and the witcher wiped his eyes with a grunt. **”The next inn is…far. It’s going to be a long night, Roach.”** He’d pushed the mare before, but this was different. Geralt had to remember her limits, and that her stamina was not nearly as long-lasting as his.  


  


* * *

  


  
Jaskier was always better at getting them a room, though he at least was still decently intimidating here. **”Boltons,”** he asked the nervous barkeep, who had already hastily handed over a room key. **”How do I find Bolton.”** Something called a Dreadfort, which was too foreboding for Geralt’s taste. He gave the man one of the large coins Jaskier had fetched them, seeing relief in his eyes after. 

**”Ain’t the Dreadfort ya want, mate,”** one drunk slurred at him. 

**”Shove off Alaric,”** the barkeep nervously shot at him. Geralt took his ale and sat with the man, staring him down. He smelled of piss and drink, and it might have turned Geralt’s stomach were he more relaxed. 

**”Why isn’t it the Dreadfort?”** he inquired. Drunks often held wisdom, although they also held stories that were not rightly believed. 

**”He’s been drinking here the past fortnight, ser, you shouldn’t-”** Geralt fixed the barkeep with a glare, silencing the man. 

**”Only because I was banished from court!”** he frowned. The witcher was too keenly reminded of Jaskier for a moment, and set his cup down roughly to get Alaric’s attention.

 **”The Dreadfort,”** he reminded the man.

 **”Bolton’s Bastard has Winterfell now,”** Alaric hiccupped, and it smelled…terrible. Geralt wrinkled his nose, drinking the ale in attempt to drown the smell out. No such luck. **”They’re so close anyway, no more than a day’s ride from one to the next. Whatever business you’ve got there-”** Alaric belched, and Geralt had heard enough. He stood to leave the man. A smaller coin, for this one. Bronze in color, and Alaric thanked him for it. 

**”Might you want a travel companion?”** Alaric drunkenly offered, knocking over his lute in attempt to follow the witcher. Geralt sneered, disgusted by the man. But he couldn’t help wonder if there was something to him that made bards wish to follow him headlong into death.

 **”No.”**

Winterfell, whatever the hell that was. That was where he had to head next, then. Geralt already knew he wasn’t going to sleep this night, nor any night until he’d found Jaskier. He spent the night consulting his map, studying the roads and the best path to this placed called Winterfell. The seal Jaskier had hidden away in his bag was over the one called Dreadfort, and something like a wolf was over Winterfell. 

Geralt laid in bed for a few hours after, waiting for the sun to begin its rise. Roach would have at least gotten some rest, and the two of them could get back on the road. Gods only knew how far ahead Jaskier’s captor might have gotten.


	2. Geralt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt finds a useful companion on his journey.

Geralt was lost. He had no idea where he was going, and the smells of this country were unfamiliar at best. The witcher had already run into trouble twice, and both times the men attacking him had called him _Targaryen_. He still didn’t know what that meant, but he knew that Jaskier had been right about this place. And he was angry. Hurt. He had cried many nights since Jaskier had been stolen from him, though never for long. Just when the feeling became too great to hold inside. 

He was somewhere near what the map called Silverhill, or at least he thought he was. Very few were willing to speak with him at all, let alone give him helpful directions. Geralt just had to hope that he was going the right way. That Jaskier was still waiting. Still alive. He could barely think of what it might mean if that weren’t the case. The first time it had truly sunk in that he could have lost Jaskier forever, Geralt had released the most inhuman shout he had heard from his own mouth, startling the forest creatures around to scatter in fear. Even Roach had reared, though the mare had quickly recovered. 

**”…and what a pretty little thing,”** a voice reached his ears, from somewhere not too far ahead. Geralt could smell a scuffle, and he heard the leering tone in that voice. Someone up to no good at all, he figured. Geralt was really trying not to take too many detours and distractions. But when he saw a small, brown-haired lad being accosted by four large men, the witcher couldn’t help himself. 

**”Leave him,”** he stepped towards the group, who turned to eye him. Only one of them seemed to take him seriously as a threat. The rest of them sneered, waving their hands dismissively. 

**”Fuck off. Don’t need Targaryen bastards giving me orders.”** So the fat one was their leader. Geralt could work with that. Just as he reached for his sword, the boy had jumped onto the fat leader, stabbing him quickly in the neck thrice, and then leaping down from the perch. He quickly began a scuffle with the frightened one of the group, and Geralt turned his attention to the last two, who ran at him with their swords drawn. It didn’t take long to dispatch them, though Geralt did intend to let them live, so long as they left the boy alone. The first one, he had to kill. The second one was starting to run from him when the boy unsheathed the smallest sword Geralt had ever seen, running it through his stomach. 

**”Hmm. Well. Are you ok?”** The boy looked at him oddly, and the longer Geralt really looked, the less he thought this was a boy at all.

**”Are you really a Targaryen? You look like one.”** His little voice was so high, like a girl’s. Geralt huffed softly, putting his sword away in its sheath. Roach sauntered over and nudged Geralt’s shoulder with her nose. It was time to move on, and he knew it.

**”No. I’m not. I don’t know what that is.”** Geralt nodded, sure that the boy, or girl, was fine. He heard soft footsteps quickly padding after him, and it made him sigh a soft chuckle. What was it about him that made children want to follow along? 

**”Why do you carry your swords like that? Why do you carry two swords at all? You don’t look much like a knight.”**

Geralt stopped, fixing the boy, or girl, with a stare. That didn’t seem to faze them whatsoever. In fact, they fixed Geralt right back with an indignant stare, crossing their arms impatiently.

**”I’m not a knight,”** he finally answered. Geralt sniffed the air, and that confused him even more. The boy, or girl, smelled like iron. And wolf. But also a thousand other things which came in wafts, like the air off the sea. **”Are you a boy or a girl?”**

The little brunette laughed, and walked up to stand in front of Roach, petting her nose. Roach allowed it, dipping her head down. **”Traitor,”** Geralt grunted at her.

**”I’m a girl,”** she answered the witcher. **”Why do you look like a Targaryen, then, if you’re not one?”**

Geralt grunted and pulled on Roach’s reins, urging her forward. The girl fell in line to walk with him. **”Where I’m from…I’m a mutant.”** The word left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was likely the easiest way to describe himself. **”The training for what I do. It affects a man. My hair was darker than yours, when I was a boy.”**

The girl was fascinated, and not at all fearful of him. She was likely from around here as well, Geralt thought. He stopped, looking down at her. So tiny, and so fearless. She reminded Geralt of the princess Renfri, though not quite as needlessly bloodthirsty. Though he _had_ just watched the girl kill three men without hesitation. She couldn’t have been older than twelve, surely. **”I’m trying to go north. Do you know how to get there?”**

She narrowed her eyes at Geralt, and the witcher noted how her hand slid towards the small knife in her belt. She was cautious, and wary of strangers. That was good. It meant she would survive many things in this world. **”Someone was stolen from me. I’m trying to find them. Far as I can tell…they were taken north. Somewhere…Winter something.”**

He heard the small gasp the girl tried to hide, and heard her heart beat a little faster. She knew it, then. **”Winterfell?”** she carefully asked. Geralt grunted with a nod, affirming the name. **”I can show you the way. But you’re headed East. That’s the wrong direction.”**

Geralt frowned and pulled the map from his satchel, kneeling down to look at it with the girl. She began to point at where they were, shaking her head. **”See…we’re in Bitterbridge. You’re headed for King’s Landing. You don’t want to go there.”** So he _was_ lost after all. Geralt didn’t want to think of how much time he had lost, because of that. He ground his teeth, folding the map.

**”I’m Geralt.”** It would do no good to travel with someone who didn’t know his name. And it couldn’t hurt to share, when all he needed was to fetch back Jaskier and leave Westeros for good. 

The girl weighed her options with him, and Geralt could practically hear her mind working over what was safe and what wasn’t. **”Arya,”** she finally introduced herself, holding out a hand to him. Geralt nodded, shaking the girl’s tiny hand. 

**”Can we head north without tracking back too far? I can’t let…I don’t have much time to waste now.”** Geralt’s brow furrowed, though he was grateful for having taken the time to save this little Arya. Or at least distract the men from accosting her long enough for her to protect herself. The little wildcat would have done fine on her own.  


  


* * *

  


  
They had walked for hours, through forest and off the main road. Geralt sensed that he could trust the girl, though perhaps many would have chided him for following a child’s directions. Something told him that the girl had been through quite a bit in her short time. Whatever her reasons for wanting to go north, that seemed to be her destination as well. When she had first inquired about stopping for an hour or two, Geralt had easily lifted her onto Roach’s back, continuing on.

**”Don’t you need to rest?”** Arya asked, looking down at him inquisitively.

**”Not really. Another part of my training. I’ve got more stamina than most men.”**

**”I’ve had special training, too. They never taught us that.”** Her tone made Geralt chuckle. Jaskier would adore her, though the thought of that turned his stomach and wiped the smile from his face.

**”It’s not taught. It comes from the changes they give us.”**

**”Because you’re a mutant?”**

Geralt grunted with a nod. They traveled in silence for a time, and again the witcher realized how little he was used to the sensation of quiet. **”I’m called a witcher.”**

Arya frowned, scratching her short hair. **”Is that a man who’s a witch?”** she asked.

Ah. That was right, they didn’t have those here. Jaskier had said as much. **”No. It…means I hunt monsters.”** The wildcat gasped again, staring down at him with the barest of a smile on her face. **”I’m hunting one now. The one who took my bard.”**

**”What do you want a singer back for, so badly? They’re in every inn, you know.”**

Geralt stopped Roach, and looked up at her. It wasn’t her fault, though. She didn’t know what she was asking. His stare finally made her uncomfortable, though, and she shifted uneasily in the saddle. Geralt sighed and urged Roach on once more. **”He’s not just a singer. He…I’m quite fond of him. I love him.”** His jaw tensed and his grip on the rein tightened. Geralt was not shy in showing emotion, it was rather that he didn’t experience them strongly enough to do so, often. 

**”What sort of monster took him?”** Arya finally asked, with a soft voice.

**”Something called Ramsay.”** By the sudden scent of hatred and anger she gave, Geralt could tell that she knew who he meant. This was the moment when Jaskier would say something about fate and destiny, if he were here. For his sake, Geralt would not dismiss the idea. If he was going to put his stake in destiny now, then it owed him as much to return Jaskier to him, whole and as unharmed as possible. 

**”That’s why I’m going north,”** she freely admitted. **”His father killed my mother. And my brother. But Roose Bolton’s dead. So I’m going to kill his bastard.”**

Geralt snorted angrily. The family was poison, it seemed. How had Jaskier been born of it, then? One had to wonder. **”Do you know of anyone called Jeymes Bolton?”** he asked the girl, looking up briefly.

Arya nodded. **”He came to Winterfell sometimes. But Ramsay killed him when they were boys, my father told me.”**

If only he had let Westeros believe that this was still the case. Jaskier deserved to be lounging on a warm coast, dreaming of mermaids and whatever else bards dreamed of. Geralt could feel his stomach twisting in guilt again. **”He wasn’t killed. He left. And I foolishly brought him back here.”**

It took Arya few moments to understand what he was saying, it seemed. **”The…your bard?”** Geralt grunted, eyes forward. **”If he’s Ramsay’s brother…”**

**”Maybe it’s the time for quiet,”** Geralt interrupted her. It was far from blessed silence, though. His mind was whirring and overthinking, worrying over all the things that might happen to Jaskier in the time he needed to catch up to them.  


  


* * *

  


  
It was unfortunate, but Geralt did need to stop for rest for a night. Roach was getting tired, too. He had noticed Arya nodding off in the saddle, though every time he prevented her from falling off, she grunted awake and insisted she was fine. Stubborn and haughty. She reminded Geralt too much of too many people. All of whom he’d failed, up until this point.

**”Come on wildcat, we’re making camp.”** Arya snorted softly, stirring awake again as Geralt eased her down. He made up a bedroll for her first, laying her down in it and covering her with one of the furs Jaskier had bought for them. She looked so serene when asleep. Like a little girl ought to look, Geralt thought. The idea of Ciri ever being reduced to this sort of fate, wandering the world alone and relying on perfect strangers…it hit him hard. He wondered how that little princess was faring, with Yennefer. It was all the more reason to ensure she made it to Kaer Morhen, once he returned. 

Geralt made a small fire, to cook himself some dinner. As he was eating, he heard soft, cautious steps behind him. The witcher waited until the girl’s little knife was trying to slide up to his throat, to catch her arm. He chuckled, looking over his shoulder at her. Arya looked surprised, completely caught off guard by his quick response. Were all the men of Westeros thick as shit, then? Sluggish and slow? Maybe he would fare well here, after all. 

**”I was just testing something,”** she defensively said, before he’d even uttered a word.

**”I’m sure you were,”** Geralt shook his head, letting go. **”Are you hungry?”**

Arya nodded, and joined him for a small meal, before they finally made camp. Geralt was grateful for the fact that he didn’t need to set a tent for her. It would make the morning all the more easier.


	3. Geralt III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Arya continue to travel north.

It took Geralt three days to get them back on course, and admittedly it was perhaps a misstep to listen to a child on directions. He simply didn’t have the time, not when he couldn’t tell what was happening to Jaskier. The girl, Arya, was a mischievous little thing, and far better trained than Geralt had reckoned a girl her age ought to be. Perhaps it was fine to take Ciri to Kaer Morhen after all. She was a willful child, and would do well through the trials of becoming a witcher. 

**”Have you ever seen a dragon?”** Arya asked curiously, while they sat just off the road for a quick meal. She was just as curious as any other child, but whatever she had been through had aged her soul, Geralt could tell. 

**”Two,”** he grunted. Arya broke out in an excited grin, inching closer and leaning in eagerly to listen. 

**”They tell us that all the dragons of the world are dead.”**

**”They also tell you they don’t know what’s to the west.”**

**”You didn’t have to kill them, did you?”** That honestly surprised Geralt, the whine in her voice. She didn’t want him to have killed a dragon, it seemed, and that fact made him smile a bit.

**”No,”** he confirmed, clicking his tongue for Roach. The mare approached and ate the apple he held up for her. **”I protected them. A dragon and his mate. Men tend to fixate on the wrong monsters. The dragons wanted nothing but to live their lives. Borch approached me in his human form, actually-”**

**”His human form?!”** Arya jumped up as though she couldn’t believe such a thing. Maybe what they learned of dragons here was woefully short of the full story. There wasn’t just one type of dragon, after all.

Geralt chuckled and settled back. They would have to get on the road within the hour. **”Some schools of witcher will teach you just to kill and get paid. The wolves are the longest surviving school for a reason.”** Arya gave him a curious look at that, and began to peel the skin off her apple, contemplating what she wanted to say.

**”So that’s why you wear that?”** Arya gestured at his medallion. **”I’m…I’m a wolf, too.”** Geralt grunted, narrowing his eyes at that. She smelled mostly human, apart from the odd times she held the scent of animals. Mostly a wolf smell, yes, but her little heart beat like any other human’s.

**”It shows that I studied in the school of the wolf, yeah. But it tells me when magic is being used, or if a magical monster is nearby.”** It had vibrated very little, if at all, since he’d arrived in Westeros. Magic was scarce here, and Geralt never thought that he’d miss the sensation of power. It was odd, and left him feeling empty. Losing Jaskier had made it worse, and Geralt was never going to let the bard out of his sight again, once he had him back.

The pair were silent for a few long moments, Arya feeding her apple peel to Roach and finishing the rest of her meal. **”I think I’m a monster,”** she whispered, frowning at her hands. Maybe she meant the ease with which she’d slaughtered those men who attacked her. Or whatever that training had been, that she mentioned a few times.

**”You’re no monster,”** Geralt assured her. **”You’re a girl who’s had a difficult life.”** Arya looked at him with a frown, and the witcher recognized the expression of consternation on her face. There was something else she hadn’t told him yet, and Geralt rose an eyebrow. They were both terrible at speaking of the things that made them different, it seemed.

Arya set aside her water flask, and sat on the ground, with her back to the stump upon which she’d just been perched. **”I’ll just show you,”** she said. **”That…it’ll be easier.”** Geralt was confused, but nodded. He was admittedly alarmed when Arya’s eyes fogged over into a milky haze, and her body went still. Her heart slowed, and her breathing was shallow.

**”Arya.”** No answer. His medallion hummed softly, and that surprised him. There was a shuffling in the bushes nearby, and Geralt glanced over, seeing a small wild cat slinking out of the shadows. It didn’t fear the pair, and in fact walked straight into their clearing. The cat leaped up into Arya’s lap, sitting there and staring at Geralt for a moment. The witcher began to put things together, looking from the cat to the girl. **”Is that you in there?”** he asked. The cat mewed and jumped down from Arya’s lap, walking over to bat Geralt’s ankle.

**”Hey. Cut that out. But you’re still no monster,”** he chuckled, and pet the cat. It was the only time a cat had been able to stand being near him, and Geralt found that fascinating. She could override the animal’s instincts and control it completely. A moment later, the wildcat shook its head, hissing and rushing out of the clearing. When the witcher looked at Arya, she seemed a little softer than usual. Like a scared child. Geralt saw her age in her expressions, for the first time.

**”You really think so?”** she finally asked, quietly. Geralt nodded with a grunt, and Arya smiled, holding her knees up to her body. **”I’ve never shown anyone before. When I was in Braavos, I was blind for…I can’t even remember how long. And I used the cats to see, around me.”** Geralt had more questions than he had ability to ask, in this moment. But he trusted that Arya would tell him more, in her time. If Jaskier were here, he would have asked a thousand questions all at once, with no room to speak between any of them. Geralt hoped there would be time.

**”It seems like magic,”** he tapped his medallion. **”You’re no monster. You have a skill that most do not. I’ve never seen that.”** In all his years, he had seen shape shifters and demons and all kinds of magic. This was new, and felt oddly wild.

**”I had a wolf once,”** Arya suddenly said. Geralt nodded for her to continue, while he stood to grab Jaskier’s lute. He had been trying to gently practice with it, and not break it under his grip. **”Nymeria. I named her for a dragon-rider.”** That made the witcher chuckle. This little Arya had more in common with him than he would admit to, out loud. **”I used to have dreams about her…especially after I had to send her away. I didn’t like doing that, but I was going somewhere dangerous. They would have killed her. But I think…I think the dreams I had about her weren’t dreams at all. She’s still out here somewhere. I can feel her.”**

Geralt slowly plucked at the strings. It was aimless, but he had begun to figure out how to create a melody. A very basic and rigid one, nothing that was as melodious and flowed beautifully, like the ones Jaskier would write. **”Then you must still be connected. A wolf is a wild beast of the earth. I think that’s where your magic comes from. Makes sense.”** Of course he didn’t know much about the magic of Westeros, but he did know it was the first time he’d felt any since he’d been here.

**”Why do you play that?”** Arya asked him. Geralt tried a chord, frowning when the string didn’t play like it should have. He tried again, realizing that he had been pressing the strings wrong. This was a lot harder than it seemed, he had come to find. Geralt grunted and slid his calloused fingertips over the neck, at least enjoying the way it sounded when he did that.

**”Because I miss the sound of it.”**  


  


* * *

  


  
Geralt stepped in a slow circle around the clearing, his steel sword glinting in the light. The last time he’d used it against a brown-haired girl, he had regretted it. This was not a fight, however. Just a practice. Arya had shown great potential in how she fought and danced, and Geralt wanted to know how well she’d been trained. 

**”That sword is small, but efficient. It won’t work against the swords men use. I’ll go slowly,”** he assured, before stepping towards Arya. His sword swung and Arya quickly rolled out of the way, batting at his thigh with the thin stick she was using in place of a sword. Geralt had enough control of himself to risk using his own blade, but he didn’t trust that she might not get carried away, yet. Geralt easily blocked the strike she tried to land. 

He tried to twist and grab for the girl, but found that she had danced away from his grasp too easily. She was a nimble thing, and Geralt grunted in approval. It was easy to see how she could win in a fight with multiple men, if she continued to dance and flow around his strikes. Sometimes he gently connected the edge of his blade across her shoulders, and made them repeat the motion until she had adapted to his style of fighting, using her own to dance away from it. By the end of the training session, she was breathless and sweaty.

**”I can keep going,”** she panted, hunched over with her hands on her knees. Admirable, but stupid.

Geralt shook his head, sheathing his sword and grabbing the water skein. **”Not today, wildcat. That was good. I haven’t seen fighting like that before.”** He handed the water to Arya, who finally resigned, throwing down the thin training stick.

**”It’s called water dancing,”** she answered. Geralt had never heard of that before, but he supposed that there were plenty of things he’d never heard of. **”It’s from Braavos. My father knew I hated sewing lessons, so he…well, this is Needle,”** she reached for the thin blade that she usually kept strapped to her belt. **”He told my sister that I was going to dancing lessons. And they were. Just not what she thought I was taking.”** Arya spoke so fondly of her family, and Geralt was only slightly jealous. He barely remembered much of his family at all. Just his mother, really. And she’d abandoned him.

**”Hmm. It suits you. I’d almost say you’re more a cat than a wolf, apart from no cat has ever liked me.”**

**”Who said I like you?”** Arya grinned. That made Geralt chuckle and reach out to ruffle her moppy hair. She had fire, and he was quickly growing fond of it.

The sun was setting quickly, and he could tell Roach was exhausted from their journey. Geralt would have run to Winterfell himself, if he had to. But he couldn’t leave Roach, and now he couldn’t leave Arya, either. That was her home, and it had been stolen from her. He understood. If someone had taken over Kaer Morhen, and they didn’t belong there, he would fight tooth and nail to restore it.

**”Start a fire, wildcat.”** Geralt fetched their bedrolls and cooking equipment, to set for the evening. He had caught a rabbit while they were on the road, and set to skinning and gutting it for their meal.

**”My brother gave me Needle. Well, my half-brother,”** Arya was explaining as they ate.

Geralt frowned slightly, eyeing her. **”Half brothers are trouble, from what I’ve seen so far.”**

Arya shook her head emphatically, ripping another bit of meat off the bone. **”Not Jon. Jon is good. And nice. He always treated me well, and I never cared that he’s only my half brother. Or that he’s a bastard. Sansa treated him like one, but I never did.”** And she seemed proud of that fact. Perhaps Ramsay was just so broken that someone as sweet and kind as Jaskier could never redeem him.

**”He got a dire wolf too,”** she was grinning wide. **”We all did. Me and Rickon and Bran and Sansa and…and Robb.”** Her face went hard again, and she looked down at her meal in silence for a moment. That was the brother Jaskier’s father had killed, Geralt remembered. He would have worn the same look, if he was on a quest to kill a man who was either directly or adjacently responsible for Eskel or Lambert’s murder.

**”Anyway, Jon got a white wolf-”** Geralt snorted softly at that, earning him a frown from the girl. **”What?”**

Geralt shook his head with a soft smirk. **”It’s not to make fun. That’s my nickname. Well. It’s the one Jaskier gave me. The White Wolf.”** Arya’s eyes grew wide, and she giggled. Softly at first, and then she laughed as though she hadn’t laughed in a long while. It was infectious, and even Geralt spared a few short grunts of laughter, shaking his head. **”Well I’m glad you find it so funny.”**

**”Well it’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”** Arya giggled. Geralt shrugged, and tossed a potato wedge at her. Arya swatted it away with a laugh. **”He sounds nice. Your bard. Are you sure he’s a Bolton?”**

**”That’s what he told me,”** Geralt shrugged.

Arya finished her meal, and then dragged her bedroll to lie closer to Geralt’s. The witcher made note of it, but said nothing. The girl trusted him, enough to share her magic and stories, and Geralt would respect that. She was a lost wolf cub, and in a strange sense, that made him feel indebted to her safety. They were both odd wolves out here, and he was better suited than most to protect someone in this strange realm.

**”We’ll get him back,”** Arya sounded more confident than Geralt felt. And it made him smile lightly. **”He’d kill you for playing with his lute, wouldn’t he?”**

**”He would,”** Geralt smiled bitterly, turning to put their dinnerware and Jaskier’s lute away, using that as an excuse to hide the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. The lump in his throat stopped any further words.

**”Geralt?”** came Arya’s tiny voice. The witcher grunted, taking his time to put away their things. **”We _will_ ,”** she insisted. Geralt simply nodded. Roach knocked his shoulder sympathetically, and he stroked her nose.

**”I hope you’re right.”** He didn’t know if he was talking to Arya or Roach. When he laid down for the night, Arya snuggled up in a tiny ball against his chest, like she needed his warmth. It reminded him of the times he and Jaskier had slept with little Ciri between them, and the memory put an ache in his heart, with the bard missing from his side. He needed to get Jaskier back.


	4. Geralt IV

**”We should color your hair,”** Arya reached down from the saddle to fluff Geralt’s silver half-ponytail. That made the witcher frown.

**”Why? Jaskier said the same thing.”** It wouldn’t have stopped Ramsay from kidnapping Jaskier anyway, he knew. 

**”Because you look like a Targaryen warlord wandering through Westeros. People are going to try to fight you, because nobody here has ever heard of a witcher.”** Geralt grunted, but supposed that having to fight an army for how he looked would make his journey to Jaskier even longer. And he couldn’t have that. 

Which is why he found himself now sat by a stream, with some foul-smelling concoction soaking into his hair. Arya had known exactly what to mix and ground together, to make the right dye for Geralt’s hair. **”The Faceless Men taught me how to disguise myself _without_ taking a face,”** she explained. Geralt found himself with even more questions, but stayed silent and still as the dye had been applied to his hair. 

**”How long do I need to leave this?”** he asked, gesturing at his head. 

Arya was cleaning her hands in the stream, and shrugged, looking up at him. **”The longer you leave it, the darker it’ll get.”** Geralt wasn’t even sure it would hold in his hair, given his mutations, but if it worked then it would be worth this lunch stop. Arya even set about pulling food out for them, just so Geralt wouldn’t move from the spot. 

**”Tell me about the Faceless Men.”** It was an interesting idea, and Geralt wondered what she could have possibly meant. Apparently they were well known in Westeros, but Geralt had not bothered much with learning about Essos, Braavos, or all the rest of this world. He knew there was more beyond his continent, but never thought he’d be going anywhere else. Getting this contract had been the first time he’d learned of the names of other realms and countries. 

**”Well…it’s gruesome. And not pleasant. They taught me how to take faces from the dead. But when you wear a face the first time, you…well you feel how they died. And it feels like _you_ die. But that’s only the first time…and then the magic they teach us tricks people into thinking you’re that person.”**

**”A glamour,”** Geralt grunted. Arya nodded, handing him an apple. 

**”A very good one. I…that one’s a little harder to do. But I have some faces-”** Arya gestured at the pack she’d brought. **”They might come in useful.”** Now Geralt was curious, and he wondered if he would be able to sense the magic of her faceless glamour. He had felt when she slipped into the animal, but it had been different. 

The pair quietly ate their meal, and Geralt got used to the sounds of this odd forest. Birds essentially sounded like birds no matter where he went, but he was recognizing the different types of birds, and that they were in fact different from the ones he had known all his life. It was interesting, and he wondered what would happen if some of these birds were brought back with them. He would never, but it was just a curious thought.

**”Right. You should go wash then,”** Arya threw her scraps into the stream and grabbed Needle. **”I’m going to practice my dancing.”** She wandered off, and Roach gave her a playful lip as she walked by, making the girl giggle and jump out of the way. Geralt waited until she was out of sight to strip and wade into the cold stream. He hadn’t had a bath in days, not since the last inn he and Jaskier had slept at. 

Geralt dipped under the water, cursing loudly as the dye got in his eyes, when he resurfaced. He kneeled to scrub his face, and then bend backwards in the water, feeling the dye slip from his hair. He’d never tried to color his hair before, nor had he really had reason to, but the glance into the stream’s reflection showed a stranger staring back. Geralt felt his hair with a grunt, unsure if he liked this change. It was only temporary, and it was for Jaskier. That was the important thing.

He dunked his hair one more time, scrubbing roughly at his scalp, before going to dry and dress himself again. As he reached for his armor, a large crow, or was it a raven, landed on it, squawking at him. **”Hmm. Go away,”** he waved his hand. The bird yelled again, and refused to budge. Geralt frowned, reaching for his armor, only to be pecked by the bird. **”Fuck off,”** he growled, receiving an annoyed squawk in return. 

**”Don’t!”** Arya came rushing into the clearing. Geralt frowned, stepping back from the bird. **”That’s got a message for us.”**

**”A message? Who’s going to be sending us a message?”** Geralt had never heard of such a ridiculous thing. Jaskier was the only person who knew him. Unless the bard had managed to escape, and sneak a message out to him. For the first time, Geralt felt a thrum of hope in his chest. 

**”Anyone could be. This…this is a bird from Winterfell…”** Arya stroked the raven’s back as she pulled a scroll off its leg. Geralt hadn’t even noticed it. Who sent messages by raven anyway? As soon as she’d untied the scroll, the bird took off, flying back to wherever it came from.

**”Winterfell?”** he prompted, sounding eager as she read the letter over.

**”Oh…”** Arya looked up at him. **”This is…it’s for you, actually.”** Geralt could not have grabbed the paper from her faster, reading it over three times. The writing was rushed and messy, and there were blots where the ink had spilled onto it, as though whoever wrote it was trying to do so as quickly as possible.

_Jeymes is here, at Winterfell. With Ramsay. Come soon or it will get worse. I’m sorry. -Reek._

He crushed the paper in his hand, then began to quickly put on his armor. **”Who the fuck is Reek?”** he growled, his stomach turning. Arya had gotten the hint, and began to pack up her things as well. A terror was growing in him that he had never felt before. If he lost Jaskier, he was never going to forgive himself. **”Do you think it’s a trick?”** He didn’t know why he was asking Arya. Maybe to fill the space. With _anything_. Any sound other than the crushing thoughts that tried to break his mind.

**”I don’t think so. That was too hurried. I…I don’t know who Reek is. But I know Ramsay likes to gloat. He took your bard in the dead of night, so he doesn’t think he can fight you. So he wouldn’t taunt you like that, either.”** Geralt nodded, agreeing with her assessment. It felt right, though he didn’t know much about Ramsay beyond what Jaskier had said. He practically threw Arya up onto Roach’s back, jumping up and pushing the mare harder than he maybe ought to have.  


  


* * *

  


  
They were so close now, less than a day’s ride from Winterfell. Geralt had run Roach ragged, and even he was worried for her health. But once they reached their destination, they could rest. All of them. And he would pull Ramsay’s limbs from his body one by one, if he could stand the man’s smell. Arya had been getting worn out, but Geralt was finding it easy to keep her propped up between his arms, while they rode Roach. The first time he’d caught his reflection in a tavern, he had stared for a solid minute. 

**”I liked the silver hair better,”** Arya had said. And Geralt was inclined to agree. It looked wrong, somehow. But it was to keep his true nature hidden, and to keep others from thinking he was something else. And it was for Jaskier, above all. 

The tangy smell of copper hit his nose, and Geralt grunted. Blood. He slowed Roach, but found the smell stayed the same. **”Arya…you’re injured?”** his nose wrinkled at the scent of blood that stayed with them. Geralt pulled Roach off to the side and slid off her back, immediately checking the girl for any injuries he might have missed. Maybe they had ridden too hard, and he didn’t realize he was hurting her.

**”What?”** she seemed confused for a moment, batting his hand away, and then sudden realization crossed her features. **”Oh…I forgot, you can…your nose is better than humans’.”** When Arya swung off Roach, the smell got worse, only for a moment. That made Geralt frown more, and he wondered how she was so calm about all this. **”I’ll be right back!”** The girl disappeared into the bushes with her pack, and Geralt was left to wonder what the hell had happened, and why she wasn’t worried for whatever injury she’d suffered. 

When she came rushing back out of the bushes, Geralt noted that she’d changed her trousers. The smell had dampened, but it was still there. Whatever she had done, it wasn’t as much of an issue as Geralt had imagined it to be. **”Sorry. I haven’t been paying attention to the days. It’s just my moon.”**

The witcher grunted softly, frowning. **”Your what?”**

Arya stopped for a moment, staring at him, before tying her pack back to Roach’s saddle. **”My…my moon? Women have moons where you come from, don’t they?”** Geralt was still lost, unfortunately, and had no idea what the girl was talking about. **”Oh gods, you…Geralt, I thought you were a hundred years old!”** She didn’t need help getting back up onto the mare, and Geralt climbed up after her. 

**”Not quite. What does that have to do with anything?”** Arya put both hands to her face, groaning awkwardly. Geralt wondered if this was just something teenage girls did. Was this what he was to look forward to, with Ciri?

**”It’s…women. Every month. They um…they bleed.”**

**”Why?”** Arya made a face at him over her shoulder. Geralt thought that was just useless, to have regular bleeding. What was the point? 

**”Because…if we don’t have a baby. We have to. That’s just…it’s…what do they teach you at witcher school?!”** Geralt supposed the only women he had known were either whores or sorceresses who couldn’t bear children. Maybe that was why he’d been ignorant to this. But he really should have known, right?

**”Does…um. Does it hurt?”**

Arya pulled up her cloak’s hood, hiding her face completely. **”Nevermind. Please don’t talk about it. I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long without knowing _that_.”** In an odd sort of way, Geralt found this rather funny. Did Jaskier know about this? He had to…surely. Though they’d never had a need to discuss such things, of course. It was better to learn of it now, though, than to have no idea what he should do with Ciri, once he returned home.

**”Every woman?”** he asked, after a long bout of silence. He could hear the small sigh Arya tried to hide. She still refused to lower her hood, and Geralt supposed that she just didn’t want to look at him yet. That was fine.

**”Unless they’re really sick, yes. If you’ve never needed to know before now, why are you going to even ask?”**

Geralt chuckled. Dark hair brushed in front of his eyes with the breeze, startling him for a moment. He’d already forgotten that his hair was dark, now. **”I…have a daughter. She’s only little. She’s not my daughter by blood. I can’t make children. But she’s always been mine.”** Trying to deny it had only set him back and nearly cost him everything he cared about. **”Eighty years and I never thought I would have to raise a child. And I’m seeing now I am very unprepared for helping a girl grow into a woman.”**

Arya fell back against him, dramatically acting exhausted of the conversation. **”Well…you’d better figure it out in the next couple years, then. And…be ready for her to cry a lot.”**

That made him cringe a little, wondering what that sort of change would do to Ciri. Her power was already a powerful force. Geralt couldn’t imagine what it might be like once _these_ things started happening. Jaskier would know. Of course Yennefer might, but it had been decades since she’d dealt with that sort of thing. **”I’m not looking forward to that,”** he admitted. 

**”Don’t you ever say that to her, or you’ll make it worse.”** Geralt chuckled and ruffled her hair through the cloak, getting a light telling off for that. More than anything, he was anxious for the bard to meet this little wildcat. Or meet her again, he remembered. Arya always got quiet when Geralt did, like she was able to sense that his mind was in a darker place whenever he did that. He appreciated the silence in those moments.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”So this is Winterfell.”** They had ridden for two more days, and Geralt was suspecting that Roach might have been injured. She was walking oddly, but didn’t show any signs of injury. Geralt feared the worst, but also wondered if she was pushing herself too hard because she could sense his urgency. Geralt felt the cold in a way he hadn’t in a while, and was surprised to find that some of it felt almost _magic_ in nature. Which was surprising, and also not. Arya was from here, and her magic was certainly of the earth. 

**”Yes. The fortress…there’s only one way inside. Through the main gates.”** Arya was staring ahead with a hard expression. This was just as difficult for her as it was for him. Jaskier was in there, if that letter was to be believed. They watched the gate for two hours, and Geralt almost charged when Ramsay exited on a horse. A pack of dogs followed him, and then three more men on horses. Arya had gently laid a hand on his forearm, and it took all the self-control he had to remain in place.

**”First thing in the morning. Before the sun’s rise, then.”** Geralt had to turn away, or he absolutely _would_ rush in with no plan and a mind full of rage. He took them deep into the forest, away from prying eyes, but they couldn’t build a fire tonight. Not unless they wanted to be found within the hour and have an even worse fight on their hands. 

At their camp, Geralt laid a fur cloak over Arya’s shivering shoulders. It was cold here, and they couldn’t survive more than one night, he was sure. As she huddled in on herself for warmth, Geralt set the tent for them. They would need it, to keep warm. Rather, Arya would need it. She was just a little thing, and Geralt had endured worse in his life. He would have sat up all night and been fine, had he been on his own, but with another life in the balance, he was not willing to take that risk. 

With the tent set, Geralt began to count his potions, to see if he had enough to use both tomorrow _and_ later, if he absolutely had to. He was running short, and gods knew he might need the boost tomorrow. Geralt wanted to slice through that camp as swiftly as possible, to get to Jaskier. 

**”W-what…what are…th-those?”** Arya shivered. Geralt frowned and set his potions bag aside, standing to pick up the girl. He pulled her into his lap, embracing her and trying to feed his warmth into her, rubbing her shoulder through the cloak. He couldn’t cast Igni here, for fear of discovery, but he could at least lessen her misery for now. 

**”Those are my potions. They…well they give me extra strength, when I fight monsters. I may need them to get inside. I don’t know, yet.”** Arya nodded and pulled the fur tighter around her, curling in towards Geralt. He carefully used one hand to pack the bag away again, and then carried Arya to the tent. **”C’mon wildcat. Let’s get some rest.”** Arya was too tired to protest, instead nodding and grabbing onto Geralt’s medallion like a comfort blanket. 

He laid Arya down and practically drowned her in furs to keep her warm. He thought about staying up to keep watch, but even _his_ stamina had been run down. Geralt needed to rest, or he would be useless to Jaskier come morning. **”You know, the first time I met Jaskier…I punched him in the gut.”** Arya peeped out from the furs with judgmental eyes, which made the witcher laugh. **”Don’t give me that look,”** he slid under his own set of furs, getting comfortable. **”He approached me in a tavern, and would not leave me alone. I was used to being an outcast at that point, you see.”**

Arya hid under the furs again, but kept making noises of acknowledgement at him. Geralt recounted the story; of the bard’s insistence in following him, in how he had offered his life in place of Jaskier’s to the elf king Filavandrel. Even then, he could not stand to see an innocent slaughtered for his own interference. How could he have known that he would come to love the bard so deeply? He had only just begun the tale of Cintra, and the child surprise, when he noticed Arya snoring softly beneath the furs. He carefully lifted them to confirm, smiling lightly. Geralt laid himself down and pulled the bundle of fur-covered Arya in close, settling into a light and admittedly uneasy sleep. 

Tomorrow, he would have Jaskier in a similar embrace, one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like with the Jaskier chapters, Geralt's story will continue in the next part of this series!


End file.
